


holy water cannot help you now

by sleeplessmiles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jemma knows, with unwavering certainty, that there doesn’t exist a way to get all three of them out of here safely.</em>
</p><p> <em>But two of them?</em></p><p>--</p><p>Captured by Ward's Hydra, Jemma uses herself as a bargaining chip to save both Fitz and Skye. And if she gains an opportunity to make a lasting attack on Hydra - and Ward - in the process? </p><p>Well.</p><p>[Set approx. a month after Jemma returns from the Rock.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	holy water cannot help you now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on tumblr: "Hey so I kind of made this deal to save you and you just need to let me go and let me do this I promised you I wouldn’t let you get hurt I intend to keep that promise now let me go.” “Where are you going?” “I gave myself over to our enemy.”
> 
> YEP. Buckle up.
> 
> I should warn you upfront that I've tagged Ward as there's quite a bit of him in this fic (the prompt asks for an 'enemy' after all) and so it's important to note that a) he's the version of Ward we've got in canon, so 'Villain Ward' or Actual Head of Hydra Ward etc, and b) this is from Jemma's POV, so her canonical perception of him colours everything. If that's not a sympathetic enough depiction of him for you, feel free to give the fic a pass.
> 
> Okay? Sweet, hope you enjoy!!

 

 

It thrums beneath her skin.

Jemma has been trying to ignore it – truly, she’s trying. There are much more pressing matters at hand, after all. Ward has the three of them locked inside a tiny cell, with only a single fluorescent bulb saving them from complete darkness, but the picture it illuminates is borderline horrific. Skye is laying on the floor, the gunshot wound in her upper thigh firmly bound and yet still leaking blood, still painting the floor around her with its macabre reality. Fitz is doing a good job of keeping her awake, telling her stupid jokes and little stories to keep her alert and teasing him, but she’s flagging. Anyone can see that she’s flagging. Plus they’ve got no comms, and it’s unlikely the team knows of their location.

They’re in dire straits.

And yet, Jemma can barely focus beyond the incessant thrumming beneath her skin, the way that every inch of her being screams to _attack_ , to fight back.

It shouldn’t be this bad. She and Fitz had worked long hours, tirelessly searching for a solution after she’d returned from the portal and they’d realised what had happened, the things of which she’s now capable. It’s taken them the better part of a month, but they finally found a way to contain these aggressive alien instincts. They discovered an alien metal that somehow stops the impulse from being fully triggered, fashioning it into a necklace ( _a collar_ , she’d joked, although Fitz failed to see the humour in it) so that she will always be in check. She needn’t worry about losing control anymore.

As it turns out, however, all it took was Fitz and Skye being thrown into mortal peril to bring her dangerously close to that edge of control.

She feels like pacing; it’s made her into a caged animal, becoming more and more agitated by her confinement. So instead, she forces herself to sit. To think.

The thing is, she’s run through all of the possibilities by this point, all of the different angles of their current circumstances, so Jemma already knows. She  _knows_ , with unwavering certainty, that there doesn’t exist a way to get all three of them out of here safely.

But two of them?

She can get Ward to release the other two, she’s sure of it, because he won’t be expecting this. He doesn’t know about the monolith, and he doesn’t know about… well, _her._ How she came back, or even that she left in the first place. He doesn’t know what she’s capable of.

( _Nor do you_ , she thinks. She ignores the now-familiar tingle at the base of her spine; the one that _desperately_ wants to find out.) 

But she can sell this. She _knows_ that she can. It’s a game of chess to him – has to be, from the way he’s waiting them out rather than instigating anything – and he thinks he has them trapped. What he doesn’t understand is _who_ he has cornered.

Because yes, she’s just a pawn. But she’s a pawn who’s been advancing to his end of the board without him even noticing. 

While his attention was elsewhere, she became a queen.

And his inattention is going to cost him.

(She’s got nothing left to lose, and _everything_ to gain.)

When she climbs to her feet, Fitz immediately looks over at her, concern and alarm etched into his features. It’s surprisingly easy to ignore the blood splattered over his face – the smudges of Skye’s blood, plus his own, courtesy of a particularly vicious guard – and Jemma knows she should worry about how familiar it’s becoming, seeing him in this setting.

But she doesn’t have the time for it just now.

‘What are you doing?’

Jemma sighs, averting her eyes. ‘I’m going to talk to Ward.’

‘No.’ He jumps to his feet.

‘Fitz.’

When she looks back up, he’s shaking his head emphatically. ‘No, Jemma, this is exactly what he wants.’

‘ _This_ is what he wants, Fitz,’ she replies harshly, raising her voice a little in order to overpower his. At his startled expression, she sighs again, gentling her tone. ‘Don’t you see? He wants us to sit here and try to guess his next move, try to pre-empt whatever he does next. He wants… desperation; he wants us divided.’

Fitz shakes his head more gently as he processes this, shrugging. There is fierce determination written into the line of his jaw, and Jemma thinks she might just love him for it.

‘He won’t divide us.’

She could almost cry – Fitz doesn’t even realise just how accurate his words are. Because that’s exactly it, isn’t it? Ward _won’t_ divide them, won’t separate them, because what use are they to him when separated? The threat of violence against either of the others would compel Jemma to do just about anything, and she knows the same is true of both Fitz and Skye.

They’re each other’s leverage.

It’s why she has to act right now, before he capitalises upon that fact even further.

Keeping this train of thought to herself, Jemma firms her lips into a weak approximation of a smile. Judging by Fitz’s face, it’s the opposite of reassuring.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she promises. ‘I’ll be back before you even know it.’

He doesn’t have any more arguments; she can see it, see the defeat. Her heart aches at the brokenness on his face. ‘I don’t… you shouldn’t go alone.’

‘You need to stay here with Skye.’

‘Why aren’t _you_ the one staying?’ he questions. ‘You’re the doctor.’ 

‘Fitz.’

‘ _I’ll_ go,’ he says darkly. ‘Give him a piece of my bloody mind.’

 _You did,_ she wants to say. He winces, and it’s clear that he, too, is remembering his words from earlier. Jemma had been too preoccupied with stemming the bleeding from Skye’s wound to pay much attention to Ward, but Fitz had been furious, spitting vitriol and actually having to be restrained. Despite their dire situation, one corner of Jemma’s mouth tugs upwards a little.

‘Do you see now why it has to be me?’

Fitz seems less amused. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he glances down at Skye for a moment and then looks back at Jemma. ‘Jemma, I don’t like this.’

She hesitates, the automatic response tickling at her throat before she bites it back.

_(You’d like it a whole lot less if you knew what I’m about to do.)_

‘Neither do I,’ she murmurs instead, voice cracking and dipping in and out of a whisper. ‘But then, I don’t really fancy _any_ of this. And Skye – ’

‘Skye needs it, yeah.’ He sighs, resting his hands on the back of his waist. ‘Just. Come back to us.’

Something squeezes painfully in her chest, because she _wants_ to. Oh, how she wants to come back to them, wants to stay with them for as long as the universe will allow it. She wants nothing more.

But not at the sake of their safety. Not at the cost of their lives. Nothing is worth that. 

(Nothing she can ever do would be worth that.)

She swallows thickly.

‘I will.’

He doesn’t wrap her up in a hug, doesn’t seek physical contact in any way; he simply holds her gaze, blue eyes broadcasting more than his words or actions ever could. It’s comforting in a deeply instinctive way, one that speaks to their many years communicating with little more than a glance.

Most of the time, it was all they’d needed. It’s certainly all she needs here.

Setting her jaw, Jemma nods one last time before turning and striding away from him. She raises a hand, hammering it against the large, metallic door a few times to signal to their guards.

‘Excuse me!’ she calls out. ‘I wish to speak with Ward.’

No answer. Rolling her eyes, Jemma bangs on the door again – harder, this time.

‘I know you can hear me!’

 _He’s doing this on purpose,_ she thinks. _It’s all part of his mind games._

She’s just considering kicking the door – it might help her to work out some of the tension coursing through her veins, after all – when it starts to shake violently in its bracket, completely without warning. The guards must have been leaning on the other side of it, because she hears their yelps as they jump away from it. There’s a litany of gruff curses, and Jemma looks over her shoulder to see Skye’s arm outstretched, wavering though it is, and pointed at the door. 

Skye’s "quaking" the door.

Barely conscious and losing a dangerous amount of blood, and yet she’s vibrating the door simply to mess with Ward’s men.

 _Skye._  

Fitz huffs out a laugh, and the girl herself grins weakly. 

‘Skye,’ Jemma chides, but there’s no real bite in the admonishment. Skye just continues to grin back at her, clearly proud of herself, and the moment is so startlingly _normal_ that it almost takes Jemma’s breath away. 

(God, she loves them so, so much. It’s why she has to do this.)

And then the guards are wedging the door open and grabbing at Jemma roughly, throwing a hood over her head – _really, Ward?_ – and Fitz is protesting loudly but the heavy door is being bolted shut behind her just as quickly. There's no further sound, save for the harsh words of her guards and the sudden raggedness of her own breathing. Jemma forces the rhythm of he breaths back under control, steeling herself.

She did it.

She’s out.

(Let the games begin.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

When they pull the hood off a short time later, Jemma almost groans at the sight before her. As it is, she settles for a disbelieving sigh.

Because she’s standing in the middle of an incredibly posh-looking room, all expensive carpeting and dark wooden surfaces and leather chairs. The Hydra logo has been carved intricately into the wall above their heads, and on the whole, it’s just… if she had to call to mind a stereotypical villain’s lounge, she’d probably describe something much like this. It’s almost like something out of a Bond film, and it’s completely unapologetic about that fact.

God, she fucking _hates_ Hydra.

There are at least eight guards in the room with them, too, and she can’t help but feel a little accomplished at that. _They consider me a threat_.

Ward is sitting in one of the lounge chairs at the other side of the room, simply watching her and not making to say anything. It’s immediately clear that he’s going to drag this out, and why wouldn’t he? The longer this takes, the closer Skye gets to – 

Well.

The more desperate Jemma becomes, at any rate.

So she does what she’s been itching to do for this entire time; she attacks.

(Just in a very different way.)

‘It’s me you want,’ she spits out, her voice ringing around the room with authority. Ward blinks at her, slowly, before a smirk creeps onto his face. 

‘I was wondering who would break first,’ he muses aloud. Jemma fights the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Please. You _knew_ it would be me,’ she shoots back.

‘Someone’s pretty confident of themselves, aren’t they?’ He stands up as he says it, waking a few steps across the room to lean a hip against the wall. It’s probably supposed to intimidate her. It’s probably supposed to infuriate her with its laxness.

She’s completely unfazed.

‘Let them go,’ she demands, standing her ground. He raises his eyebrows at that, as amused as Jemma had guessed he’d be. She continues on regardless. ‘I’ll stay, but let them go. It’s me you want, anyway.’

‘Oh, it’s you, is it? And what makes you say that?’

‘You _need_ me.’

There’s a smattering of laughter from the guards behind her, and Ward glances up to make pleased eye contact with a few of them, sharing in the joke. She won’t let _that_ stand.

‘Case in point, really. I mean, just look at your recruitment thus far.’

Not as much laughter from that one, predictably enough.

‘Hey, watch it!’ someone grunts. Jemma glances over her shoulder, shooting the guard an acerbic smile, before turning back to Ward.

‘Hydra’s science department is weak. Underdeveloped. I should know, after all. Or have you forgotten how quickly I rose up your mediocre ranks?’ 

He’s not laughing anymore, but he still looks too amused to be taking her seriously. She needs to ramp this up a little. 

‘And naturally I’m aware of the capacities of SHIELD’s Science Division, having rebuilt it myself. The sorts of intel that that would entail…’

Ward nods thoughtfully, but she can tell that it’s still laced with mirth. She can tell that he’s mocking her. Every inch of her screams out to fight him for it, _fight_ , _attack,_ but she keeps it back.

(For now.)

‘But most importantly,’ she continues, making sure to look him in the eye for this part. He barely blinks. ‘I’m the best and most accomplished xenobiologist in the world, which you already know, and I’m now the leading expert on Inhumans. Having Skye present would only get you so far, with the sorts of minds at your disposal. You would have no one able to interpret your data. On the other hand, _I’ve_ studied Skye extensively.’

Ward is tilting his head now – seeming to be actually considering her words, she thinks – and so she tries not to let her sense of victory show on her face.

‘So yes. I’m the valuable one. I’m the one you want.’

Silence falls after her words, settling in for an irritatingly long period of time, and she wants to move this along but she knows that the ball is in his court now, so to speak. She’s made her move.

Now, it’s time for his.

‘You know,’ he begins slowly, walking over to a small coffee table and picking up a tumbler. There’s an amber liquid in the glass, and Jemma thinks she might just self-combust if this becomes anymore stereotypically “villainous.” It feels like a caricature, or maybe even some sort of comic book.

(And here she’d thought that her time undercover had been bad.)

‘I always thought you’d be the easiest one,’ he continues. ‘To fool, I mean. You’re an open book. Little Jemma Simmons the biochemist – never wanted to break a rule, never found a collared blouse she didn’t like. Cute, but predictable.’

He takes a long, slow sip, hardened gaze never leaving hers.

‘And then you went and jumped out of that plane.’

Watching as he replaces the tumbler, she mulls that over. There’s a smug sort of satisfaction in it, really, in knowing that she’d thrown a spanner into the works in any way. That she’d caused even the slightest setback to his plans, despite all the pain he’d caused them later on.

She’ll wear it.

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he points at her. ‘See, all that time I thought Skye was the wildcard of the bunch, but it’s you, isn’t it? _You’re_ the wildcard.’

And Jemma almost smiles at that one.

 _You don’t know the half of it_.

‘So tell me, Dr. Simmons,’ Ward drawls, walking over and coming to a halt in front of her. ‘What exactly do you have planned for us today?’

She scoffs. ‘Oh, spare me the nefarious monologue, Ward. Do we have an agreement?’

‘An agreement?’ He laughs, spreading his hands out and looking around at the other guards in the room again. ‘What agreement? You’ve got _nothing!_ I can keep Skye, and I can keep the legendary FitzSimmons, and I won’t lose a minute’s sleep over it. So why the hell would I agree to this?’

_Walked right into it._

Lifting her chin, Jemma quirks an eyebrow at him. She feels her lips curving up into a cruel smile, watches as the recognition of this crosses his face.

‘Because. It’s the only way you’re making it out of here alive.’

There’s a flurry of activity: someone yells _Sir_ and rushes forward, pulling Ward a few steps away from her, while a cacophony of shuffling sounds and distinctive clicks fills the air. Jemma doesn’t even have to turn around to know that every gun in the room is now trained on her. Every last one of her instincts is on high alert, her skin seeming to buzz with it.

(She feels _alive_.)

‘Ah-ah-ah,’ she singsongs, although the gaze she levels upon Ward is steely. ‘Careful, now. Wouldn’t want to do anything irrational.’

And really, considering what’s at stake here – _who’s_ at stake – she should _not_ be enjoying this as much as she is. 

(She isn’t sure whether she can fully blame this one on her experience on the Kree planet, either. Has she always been like this – has she always enjoyed holding the power? The thrill of the fight? Have these alien instincts simply amplified what was already there? The line becomes more and more blurred by the day.)

Ward shakes his “rescuer” off of him, stepping closer to Jemma once more. It’s meant to be assertive, intimidating, and it fills her with something strangely akin to relief – it means he’s taking her seriously now, after all. She plants her feet more firmly. 

‘You really think we can’t find whatever weapon you’ve concealed?’ he asks, eying her suspiciously.

‘I _do_ really think that. I know it, in fact.’ He blinks, clearly not following. With a deliberate roll of her eyes, she goes to elaborate. ‘I’m a _biochemist_ , Ward. Do you honestly think it’d be something so obvious?’

‘It was. Last time.’

‘I have a remarkably steep learning curve, if you’ll recall,’ she replies coolly.

He meets her gaze, evaluating. In response, her eyebrow twitches a little higher, smugness radiating from her in waves.

‘And _now_ you’re looking into my eyes and you’re seeing that I’m not joking.’ She beams up at him, all teeth. It feels rather like baring her fangs. ‘Ready to make a deal yet, _Agent Ward_?’ 

Ward takes a step back, folding his arms. 

‘Alright. Name your terms.’

‘Skye and Fitz go free,’ she replies immediately, almost a reflex. Maybe it is.

His eyebrows shoot upwards again. ‘That’s it?’

_Shit._

‘No,’ she fires back, internally cursing the slight hint of petulance that works its way into her tone. Judging by the look on his face, he heard it.

But that doesn’t matter now.

(Nothing matters beyond getting them out.)

‘Transport. You give them their comms back, allow them to radio the team and organise a meet location, and you transport them there. Safely. I’ll need proof of this.’ 

‘And then?’ 

Jemma squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye. ‘And then, you will have my complete, unconditional surrender.’

‘Really,’ he states flatly. ‘Unconditional. You expect me to believe you’re just going to talk?’

‘Oh, I’m not going to _talk_ ,’ she elaborates, ignoring the pang of satisfaction she feels at the confusion behind his eyes. ‘But as I understand it, you people believe you have ways of making a person talk.’

‘Ahh. I see. So _you’re_ saying, “do your worst.”’

She tilts her head. ‘Not in as many words.’

He smirks, a slow, deliberate thing, and she feels the fight instinct flare up again.

_Patience._

‘Pretty brave. What happens if I say no?’

She doesn’t hesitate. ‘Then I level this place to the ground.’

That surprises him; she sees it play across his face, quickly followed by a smooth wave of impassivity. He must’ve assumed that she planned to target just him, specifically, rather than Hydra as a whole. 

His mistake.

‘You’d do that to Fitz and Skye,’ he states, dubious. She narrows her eyes, jutting out her chin.

‘We’d rather _die_ than give you a single thing that you want from us.’

He takes another step closer, tilting his head slightly. 

‘You think I can’t make you talk, don’t you?’ 

_Yes. You won’t even get the chance._

‘I _think,_ I don’t really care. What I do think is that you still care about us, in your weird way.’ She actually hasn't a clue if he does, and doesn't care to find out, truthfully, but his eyes narrow. _Good._ ‘But you feel you have to keep us here for good business. And that’s what all of this is, isn’t it? Just good business.’

Ward’s still smirking. ‘Right,’ he says, drawing the word out. ‘Business.’

She raises her chin to meet his eyes defiantly. Then, he shrugs.

‘Okay. You’ve got yourself a deal.’

_Thank God._

‘Excellent,’ she says. She releases a slow, quiet breath, refusing to break eye contact with him. Part of her is flooded with relief, wanting to slump down with it, but the other, more dominant part of her knows that the fight isn’t over yet. 

(It’s that part of her that’s _relishing_ in that fact.)

‘You made yourself the weapon,’ Ward’s saying, shaking his head with that same infuriating smirk firmly in place, and she thinks she sees something like awe behind his eyes. There’s some part of him that’s impressed by this. Jemma balls her hands into fists.

‘It’s ruthless,’ he notes. ‘You’ll fit in well here at Hydra.’

She doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t fight him on the threat, because what’s the point? He can think whatever he wants, now. It’s done.

Jemma inhales through her nose, careful to keep the stuttering jumps inaudible. She ignores the sudden lurching sensation in her stomach at what this means for her – for Fitz, for Skye.

It’s _done._

 

 

-

-

 

 

They don’t put a hood on her for the trip back. She tries not to consider the implicit threat in that.

(She fails.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

She hadn’t realised it before – something to do with how long they’d been locked in there, probably – but the stench of blood hangs heavily in the air of the cell, stale and thick and coppery. That’s the first thing Jemma notices upon being shoved unceremoniously back into the small space, all of her senses being assaulted at once. Her eyes seek out Skye, only to find the girl barely conscious, and she knows she has to act swiftly.

But then Fitz is reaching for her before she’s even fully in the room, hands gripping her biceps, and something heavy clenches in her chest.

God.  _Fitz_.

Her Fitz.

‘Five minutes,’ the guard behind her grunts, slamming the door shut as he goes. Panic rises in Jemma’s throat.

_Only five?_

‘What’s five minutes?’ Fitz asks, worried eyes on hers, and she swallows through the sudden dryness of her mouth. She can’t meet his gaze.

‘Fitz, you need to listen to me. They’re going to come back with your comms; you need to radio in for May, Hunter, whoever can come. Make sure you request a med team.’

‘Wh- Jemma?’

‘Tell them to bring units of O neg. I’m not sure how well her blood will react but it’s the best shot we have.’

‘You can tell them that yourself. You know all this stuff better than I do anyway, right?’

He’s getting desperate, panicking as much as Jemma distantly feels that _she_ is, and the knowledge of this makes her sick. She hesitates for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes now, but still she presses forth.

‘You need to keep her awake as much as possible.’

‘Jemma…’ Finally, _finally_ she looks up to meet his eyes. His face falls at what he sees reflected there, lips parting in horror. ‘What did you do?’

She shakes her head. ‘Fitz, I need – ’

‘ – Did he do something?’

‘He, he didn’t do anything, no.’

_‘Jemma.’_

‘You’re going to be safe, Fitz. He’s going to let the two of you go.’ Despite everything, she feels a genuine smile spread across her face. ‘You’re going to be alright.’

‘What does that mean, the two of us? What are _you_ doing?’

She looks to the ceiling, to the flickering fluorescent bulb, and blinks to hold back her tears. It’s woefully unsuccessful. ‘I’m… I’ll be staying here for a little while.’ 

‘No.’ 

Tilting her head back down once more, she sees the devastation written across his face. ‘It’ll be alright, Fitz – ’

‘ – No, no no no – ’

‘ – I’ll be fine – ’ 

‘Stop – can you stop saying that? Can you – ’ He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers tight around her arms. ‘I know you’re trying to – just, don’t. Stop it.’

Jemma nods, grimacing.

‘It’s the only way, Fitz. You know he won’t let all three of us go.’

His eyes open to reveal ferocious intent. ‘Well, he’s going to have to because I’m not leaving you.’

 _Oh, God._  

‘You don’t have a choice, Fitz.’

‘I’m not _leaving_ you!’ he splutters. ‘Do you understand how ludicrous that is? Do you even understand how – ’

She sees it, sees the exact moment he hears the words and recognises this as the pod all over again. The look on his face makes her feel _nauseous._

(But she has to do this. She _has_ to.)

‘ _Jemma,_ you can’t…’

‘Skye needs you to get her out.’

‘Don’t.’ He shakes his head rapidly, more emotional than she’s maybe ever seen him. ‘Don’t make me choose.’

She feels her blood run cold. ‘God. I’m – I’m not, Fitz. I’d never make you do that.’

His teeth are gritted together, she sees now, holding in his pained anger.

‘You… you keep saying Skye, but what about your – ’

Her eyes widen to cut him off; there are cameras in here, so they can’t risk discussing it. Not when Ward still doesn’t know. 

Not when that’s her only advantage here.

She tilts her head, bitterly self-deprecating. ‘I guess we’ll finally see what I’m capable of, right?’

Fitz makes a noise of distress.

‘When he finds out… Jemma, he’ll – if you’re worried about what they’ll do to _Skye_ – ’

‘He won’t have the chance,’ she insists, shaking her head. Her eyes feel impossibly wide. ‘I won’t let him. Fitz, I _won’t._ ’ 

‘You don’t – ’

‘I _won’t,_ Fitz.’

He blinks at her, pained, and she wonders if he recognises something on her face from when they’d been in the pod together. She wonders if he can see the same acceptance that he’d felt at the time, the same resoluteness he’d had in his decision.

She doesn’t wonder if this is tearing him apart. That, she can see just fine.

‘Jemma,’ Skye croaks then, and the two of them look towards their friend as one. Jemma drops to a crouch beside her, taking in the pallor of her face and the dangerous fluttering of her eyes. 

They’re running out of time.

‘Ward…’ she rasps, swallowing with great effort. ‘He’s… not worth it.’

Jemma only smiles tremulously and reaches out a hand, stroking the hair back off her friend’s face with a tenderness that suddenly feels like the most important thing in the world.

‘Good thing I’m not doing this for him, then.’ 

She says nothing to that, simply gazing up at Jemma, and Jemma feels a surge of affection for her friend. They’d had such a hard time of it lately – once you try to kill someone who’s welcoming you back with a hug, there are understandably some difficulties in going forward. And yet Skye has been so endlessly patient with Jemma while she learned control, while she fought these powers and instincts that told her Skye – _Skye_ – and her people were the enemy. While she and Fitz worked tirelessly at a solution, Skye had been nothing but understanding and supportive.

And when Jemma had gotten it under control, when she could finally look at Skye and only feel the familiar rush of warmth for her? Skye had spent _hours_ with her, updating her on everything she’d missed with the team and encouraging her to mess around with her enhanced abilities.

(God, she’d missed her _so much._ )

Jemma knows she’ll never be able to thank her for that, for all that she is. She can only get Skye out safely, in the hopes that maybe one day, her friend will understand. But then Skye reaches out and grabs Jemma’s hand, squeezing it weakly, and Jemma rather thinks she might already understand it perfectly.

‘Give ‘em hell for me,’ she whispers.

Jemma nods, stroking a hand over Skye’s face again. She knows that that’s her goodbye. So it’s with shaky knees that she gets back to her feet, turning around to face Fitz.

God, _Fitz._

They never really got their chance, did they? They never got to be together.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s loved every moment they’ve spent in each other's company since she got back, slowly piecing the remains of _them_ back together, creating something so much more beautiful than before. 

She doesn’t regret a single second.

He needs to know. 

‘Fitz.’ The name comes out broken, and he’s in front of her again in a heartbeat.

‘I want you to know that these past few weeks… I know we never really – we never got to…’ she takes in a rasping breath, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Even, just having you around again, being able to talk to you, and spend time with you – ’

‘ _– Jemma_ ,’ he cuts in, voice strangled.

‘I’ve been so happy, Fitz,’ she breathes out, almost on a whine. She opens her eyes to meet his shining blue ones, and she must look as distraught as he does because he makes a wounded noise. ‘Happier than I remember being in… so long, and…’

There are tears streaming down her face now and suddenly the distance between them is inconceivable, because he’s right there and his hands are cradling her cheeks, thumbing away her tears, and his face is as close as it’s ever been, body crowding hers, and all she can breathe in is _Fitz_. 

‘Hey, hey no no no, please don’t cry.’ She sniffs, and he releases a wild half-laugh. ‘Jem, no, we’ll – we’ll be happy again – we’ll be even happier!’

_God._

‘Fitz,’ she gasps, grabbing onto his wrists. 

‘You’ll look back on these weeks and, and you know what? They’ll look _sad_ , that’s how happy we’ll be. You’ll see. You just.’ His gaze bores into hers. She can’t look away. ‘Please don’t do this.’

‘I have to.’

‘Please don’t – ’

‘ – You _know_ that I have to – ’

She isn’t sure which of them initiates it but suddenly his lips are pressing insistently against hers, frenzied and desperate, and she doesn’t even hesitate before she deepens the kiss, inviting him in further –

_There’s no time there’s no time there’s no time –_

Whimpering, her hands go to his waist to draw him even closer to her, needing more more _more_ than she can get, than she can ever get, and he takes a stuttering breath in before angling her head further, better, _more._ His eyes are closed and his lips are chapped and he tastes of blood and salt and the only heaven she’ll ever need, yet she’s all too aware that it’s the one she may never know again. 

(First, last, _always._ )

She pulls back from him on a pained gasp, heaving in air for her traitorous lungs _(do they not get it? Do they not understand how little time is left?)_ before pressing her forehead against his, bumping their noses together. They hold eye contact like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing tethering them to each other. Tears mingle on both of their faces.

‘If…’ she swallows, and her mouth is a mess now and she’s sure she’s got his blood on her face, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She takes another shuddering breath in. ‘If he brainwashes me – ’

‘ – No,’ Fitz urges huskily, shaking his head against hers. ‘Don’t say it, don’t even – ’

‘ – Don’t let him control me,’ Jemma whispers. ‘Please.’ 

‘You won’t let it get that far. You _won’t._ ’ His eyes are burning with fierce determination and he’s so sure now, so sure that she’ll succeed, that her heart positively _aches._ She lets out a coughing sob, clutching him closer still. 

‘I know, but just in case I – ’ _In case I fail._ _In case I can’t control it. In case I lose myself._ She whines. ‘ _Promise_ me, Fitz.’

‘Of course.’

He kisses her again, gentler than before but no less desperate, and it’s a terrible, terrible bliss and she _knows_ she shouldn’t say it – it’s selfish, she got them out, she doesn’t want them anywhere near this again – but she feels it bubbling up in her throat anyway.

‘Come back for me?’ It’s so quiet and so small, but the space between their lips is even smaller and he breathes it in like a prayer, exhaling his promise into her mouth.

‘ _Always_ ,’ he swears, eyes blazing. ‘Jemma. I’ll always come back for you.’

The door clunks open behind them.

‘You can do it,’ he says, voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. She nods.

‘I can,’ she agrees, gritting her teeth.

‘I’ll come back.’

‘You always do.’

He stares into her eyes, and she thinks that maybe he’s done, he’s said his piece, when he starts raining kisses all over her face, feather-light presses across her sweat-streaked, teary skin and oh God, _Fitz –_

‘Time’s up,’ says the rough voice behind them.

‘No,’ Fitz whispers. He presses a kiss to her lips, another, a third. Her grip unconsciously tightens around his waist. ‘No – ’

‘ – It’ll be okay.’ 

‘No.’

Strong arms grab Fitz’s shoulders, wrenching him away despite his best efforts, and Jemma immediately feels the loss of his closeness as though a part of her own being has been torn away. He’s yelling, unconscionable threats at the guards that she struggles to focus on when his face looks like _that_ and her skin is buzzing with the memory of him. She gravitates back in his direction, only stopping when she, too, is grabbed from behind.

‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ comes Ward’s voice, the man himself striding into the room. Fitz damn near _growls_. ‘What a sweet little reunion. Pity we have to break it up so soon.’

He winces exaggeratedly, clearly unapologetic, and Jemma knows the exact reaction it’ll get from Fitz even before he surges against the arms restraining him, fighting to get at Ward.

‘You _bastard_.’

Ward puts his hands up, all placating innocence, and Jemma has to struggle to keep her own anger at bay. ‘Hey, don’t look at me. It was all her.’

‘Don’t you dare even _talk_ about her,’ Fitz snarls.

They’re rolling a gurney in now, several medical-looking people entering the cell and crouching down beside Skye, and Jemma’s torn between watching their every move and trying to calm Fitz with her gaze.

Because she has to. She has to get him to calm down. If they knock him out, there’s no one to watch Skye. There’s no one to radio it in. 

(This will all have been for nothing.)

‘Fitz,’ she calls. He looks at her, face wild, and her stomach drops. ‘Fitz, it’s alright.’

‘Should listen to her, Fitz,’ Ward cuts in. ‘It’s in your best interests to cooperate. Compliance is best for everyone,’ he looks pointedly at Jemma here, before glancing back at Fitz. ‘Don’t you think?’

(She feels sick.)

‘If you lay a single finger on her, you’ll pay for it. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.’

Ward laughs – he actually has the audacity to _laugh_. ‘Alright, Fitz. Time for you to go. Say goodbye!’

‘No, don’t you _dare_ – ’

They shove him towards the door after the retreating gurney, Jemma watching with her heart in her throat as the two most precious people to her in the world are paraded past, perhaps for the last time.

What happens next happens in such a rush that Jemma struggles to comprehend it until much, much later.

When the gurney draws level with him, Skye lifts a shaky hand and blasts at Ward’s feet, causing him to stagger. Two guards rush forward to help him and with the distraction, Fitz throws an elbow back into his captor’s face, instantly releasing him. He runs straight to Jemma, arms encircling her waist, and she grips to his shoulders like it’s the last chance she’ll ever get (and oh, God, it might be, _it might be_ ). But then his fingers are beneath her shirt, cool and calloused against the hot skin of her back, and she feels him press something metallic there but she doesn’t quite understand. What is he –?

 _Oh_.

Oh, God.

It’s a tracker.

(It’s a _promise.)_

‘I’ll find you,’ he whispers, eyes burning with intensity. She can barely manage a nod.

And then they’re pulling him away again, roughly shoving at him even as he fights back against them. He looks back over his shoulder, obstinately holding eye contact with her as he’s pulled away down the corridor, and – 

The door shuts.

They’re gone.

She’s unutterably alone.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Ward is true to his word, bringing her out of the cell to watch security footage of the exchange. They’re back in his swanky “supervillain” room again, situated in front of a large security monitor that one of the goons had wheeled out, and there’s a bit of activity amongst the guards behind her but she barely pays them any attention.

Not when she’s so nervously watching the proceedings on screen.

The exchange mostly goes off without a hitch. The Hydra team wheels Skye out, Fitz walking next to the gurney, and SHIELD’s med team rushes immediately forward to intercept her. Some of the Hydra guards have their guns raised, and it’s such a delicate situation with Skye so wounded and Fitz still surrounded, so SHIELD doesn’t try to apprehend the enemy guards.

Although she can see from their posture, even from here, how much May and Lance want to.

Anybody could pinpoint the precise moment that Fitz informs them about her, what she’s done, because there’s an immediate change. Jemma watches on as Lance swears, face murderous as he roars death threats at the Hydra guards – and, she knows, even with the limited volume, at Ward. She watches on as May looks directly into the camera, eyes broadcasting a threat to Ward but also something earnest, something deeply sad and understanding, and Jemma knows that that part’s meant for her.

She sees all of this.

But she watches on in silence.

Then, the monitor is switched off, Ward holding the remote up in his hand with a smug, close-lipped smile.

‘I love a good happy ending. Don’t you?’

Jemma doesn’t answer, instead focusing on keeping the sudden, absurdly bitter grin from springing to her face.

Because he still thinks he’s in control here. 

She’s got nothing to lose, now. Her loved ones are safe. Her tears have dried. The attack instincts are thrumming beneath her skin, only barely contained, and it’s just a matter of time, now. They’re at fever pitch even with the necklace still on. Once she removes it?

Hydra won’t stand a chance. 

How can he _possibly_ have the upper hand?

Ward shrugs. ‘Not feeling chatty? Fine. Have it your way.’ He steps closer. ‘Mind telling me why we’re picking up alien heat signatures from you?’

_Here it is._

‘SHIELD has acquired a significant alien artifact, with which I’ve been working very closely.’ She smiles sweetly, but it’s laced with venom. ‘But I’m sure a man in your position would already be _more_ than aware of this.’

His gaze doesn’t leave hers.

‘Your necklace.’

Jemma swallows down her triumphant smile.

 _Got him._  

‘Hmm?’

‘You always wore the same necklace. This one’s different.’

‘Is it?’ she asks, all innocence. 

Ward flicks his fingers, indicating to some people behind her, and suddenly two men are grabbing at her arms, the third removing her necklace carefully. When they finally release the clasp, she feels it surge through her. 

That had been her collar.

There’s nothing holding her back now.

He sighs, falsely longsuffering, and Jemma feels herself flare to life.

‘It was a good try, Simmons.’

Her fingers flex at her sides – once, twice – and she feels it, feels the complete _awareness_ of every square millimetre of her body. It’s like nothing she’s ever known, and yet for the first time since she fought her way back through the portal, she doesn’t fear it. She doesn’t fear _herself_.

That’s everyone else’s job, after all. 

Ward smiles shortly at her, gesturing for the door. ‘Shall we get started?’ 

‘By all means,’ she replies primly, turning on her heel. There’s an animalistic purring in the back of her throat, now, and she makes no attempt to hide it as she follows them out the door.

Hydra has survived a lot, but it won’t survive her.

She’ll see to that personally.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY. Title from 'Seven Devils' by Florence + The Machine. Thanks for sticking with me!!


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